


Soul Kisses

by njw



Series: Dicktim Week Prompt Stories [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Brucequest, Civilian Dick Grayson, Gymnastics, Humor, M/M, Olympics, Soulmates, Vigilante Everyone Else, dicktimweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21862102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/pseuds/njw
Summary: Tim drags a hand over his face, mutters a curse, and then turns to face those familiar dark blue eyes, now staring at him with such keen interest. “I’m Crow,” he says, going for the blunt, pulling off a bandaid approach. “Bruce Wayne was Batman. Everyone I know thinks he’s dead right now, and I can’t even blame them. My mentally unstable, possibly-a-zombie big brother is wearing the cowl these days, there’s a baby assassin running around in my old suit and calling himself Rukk, and I’m trying to prove Bruce isn’t actually dead, just lost in time.”He bites his lip and braces himself for disbelief and accusations of having gone insane, or worse, gentle expressions of sympathy and pity.“Huh,” Dick says, tilting his head thoughtfully to one side. “This actually explains a lot.”*For thetumblr Dicktim weekday five soulmates/adventure prompt.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Dick Grayson
Series: Dicktim Week Prompt Stories [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571443
Comments: 108
Kudos: 554
Collections: Dick Tim Week 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of thanks to Salazarastark and Vellaphoria for the excellent beta!
> 
> Enjoy!

Tim draws in a deep breath as he approaches the gym, heart beating rapidly and stomach fluttering with excitement. He’s finally going to get some training, albeit circumspect, to better enable him to follow Batman. With these skills, soon he’ll be able to take even more badass pictures of the man’s incredible feats with his super-cool sidekick. It’s moments like this which actually make him feel grateful that his parents spend so much of their time traveling. After all, if they were around more, he’d never get away with pursuing his admittedly dangerous hobby.

 _This is going to be awesome,_ he thinks giddily. _I can’t wait to be able to follow the Bats across rooftops. That will be way better than having to stick to staking out promising points along their patrol route, or running through alleyways trying to keep up._

His mom had been a bit distracted when he’d brought up gymnastic lessons, but as soon as she understood what he wanted, she’d arranged everything for him. He’s certain the gym, staff, and equipment here are all top notch, the best that money can buy. His parents have always been unsparing in their support for him in every way, except one. Their own time is the only thing they can’t afford to spend on him. And that’s fair, probably. They’re busy people and he’s old enough to take care of himself.

At least it frees up his schedule so he can run around after Batman and Shrike. Smiling at the thought, he shoulders his way through the door and sweeps his gaze across the spacious, airy training areas within. Most of the equipment is familiar, balance beams and pommel horses to one side, uneven bars, rings, a vaulting space, and floor mats to the other. Aerial equipment overhead catches his eye, and he wonders with a giddy thrill if using it feels anything like flying. Well, he’s probably going to find out.

_So cool. I wonder if I can make or buy something like one of Batman’s grapnel guns?_

There are people everywhere, including a few who look like they might be his own age or even younger. He moves forward, intending to ask one of the women seated at a desk near the front where he should go. Before he makes it over there, someone flips gracefully through the air overhead and lands right in front of him. The figure straightens, and suddenly all he can see is wavy black hair over dancing, dark blue eyes and a familiar bright grin.

“Dick?” he blurts out, stunned. It’s been over seven years since he last saw Dick Grayson. The older teen looks so good, strong and healthy and happy. It’s such a contrast to the last time Tim saw him—barely nine years old and shaking as he wept over his parents’ bodies—that he almost misses what the other boy says.

Dick beams, spinning on his heel and then guiding Tim with a hand on his shoulder as he begins walking toward an empty area of floor mats. “Tim Drake, right? Your mom must have told you my name, that’s good. We’re going to be working together for a while. Now—”

“She didn’t tell me your name,” Tim says, then cringes internally. The last thing he wants to do is bring up the night they met and all the terrible memories associated with it. “I saw you perform once.” Good, that’s safe enough.

“That’s great, Tim! Is that what got you interested in gymnastics? Which event was it, nationals? Or maybe one of the local for-charity events?” Dick bounces up on his tiptoes, stretching his arms high overhead before bending impossibly at the waist to press his palms flat on the floor in a display of flexibility.

Tim catches himself staring, then flushes, shaking his head and forcing himself to look away. “Oh, no, my parents took me to see the show when Haly’s Circus came through Gotham.”

Dick freezes, then rises to look at him, blank faced. “We were only ever in Gotham for one night.”

_Oh heck. Nice going, me._

Tim bites his lip, curling into himself as he searches frantically for a way to change the subject. “I’m sorry,” he starts.

But Dick is staring at him searchingly, brows lifting in surprise. “Oh, wow,” he says, and huffs a little laugh. “You’re _that_ Timmy. You’re a lot bigger now. What were you back then, two? I can’t believe you remember me.”

“I was four and a half!” Tim says indignantly. His voice falters and goes soft. “I remember everything.”

“Oh, geez. That’s—I’m sorry you had to deal with that, kiddo.” Dick looks genuinely regretful, which is so wrong when _he’s_ the one who lost everything that night.

It doesn’t help that Tim’s vision has gone blurry, memories of that wonderful night and the tragedy that painted it with blood flashing before his mind’s eye in vivid snapshots.

 _Snap._ The Graysons smile and take a picture with his family, a nine year old Dick holding him and promising to do his special flip, just for Tim. _Snap._ The joy he felt watching them all soar and somersault through the air, like gravity had no hold on them. _Snap._ His horror, in the moment events proved that thought so terribly, tragically wrong. _Snap._ Crying later in his mom’s arms, because she couldn’t seem to put him down for hours after it happened.

Not that he’d minded. She’d prepared a special breakfast the next day, and both his parents had made an extra effort to be around for a few weeks. Both of them had been badly shaken by witnessing another pair of soulmates dying like that, and in front of their young son, too. They had compensated by making a special effort to be there for Tim and talk him through his feelings in response to the tragedy. In time, the nightmares had all but gone away.

He’d been worried about the older boy, but all he’d ever been able to find out about Dick was that he was being cared for by an aunt. Running into him here, like this… Well, it isn’t something he ever expected, but it’s wonderful to see he’s doing okay. “I’m sorry I reminded you about all that,” he whispers, eyes on the floor.

“Hey, no, you’re fine.” Fingertips nudge under his chin and gently encourage him to lift it. Looking up, he stares into Dick’s dark blue eyes again, shocked at the caring, kind expression on the other boy’s handsome face. “I’ve had a long time to come to terms with what happened.”

That’s… Well, probably true, but… “I can go? I mean, I really never meant to mention it—” He begins to edge backwards, then stops when he feels a hand on his shoulder, gently holding him in place.

Dick shrugs, shaking his head, then gives him a smile only slightly shadowed by sorrow. “It’s all right, honest. While it will probably always hurt, I’m living a good life now, and I know my parents would be proud of me.” He huffs a laugh. “You’re fine, I promise.”

Tim gives him a hesitant smile. “You’re living with your aunt, right? That’s what the papers said, afterwards. I remember reading everything I could find about you because I wanted to send you that picture our families took together, but the papers never gave any more information than that.”

Dick’s brows fly up and his mouth drops open. “You still have that?” His voice sounds awed, hushed. “My parents—I don’t have many pictures of them. Do you think…?”

“Of course!” Tim nods so fast it feels like his head’s going to fly off, and he blushes harder. He’s acting like a total dork in front of Dick Grayson, geez. “I’ll go get it!” He starts to turn, ready to leave right that moment, but a hand on his shoulder and a warm laugh stop him.

“Not right away, Timmy! We still have a lesson to get through, you know. I can tell you stories about growing up with my Aunt Harriet while I put you through a few exercises and stretches so I can figure out where to focus our efforts.” With another blinding smile, the teen sinks down to the mat and somehow twists his body into an impossible contortion that most resembles a human pretzel. “Can you do this?”

“I don’t think so.” Tim can’t help but stare at the bulge and swell of Dick’s muscles beneath his tight shorts and blue tank top. It’s a strangely mesmerizing sight. He’s feeling oddly warm and tingly in certain areas that he has a hazy feeling might lead to something very embarrassing happening if he keeps looking at the sixteen year old. Swallowing and hoping the blush heating his face will be attributed to how warm it is in here, he tears his eyes away and then flops to the ground. “I can give it a shot, though.”

Laughing, Dick de-pretzels himself and comes over to help show him some simpler stretches. Tim smiles, enjoying the exertion and the company and looking forward to learning skills he can apply to his favorite hobby. This is going to be so much fun.

* * *

Dick scrolls through his phone, smiling when he sees a text from Tim with a little gif of a cat walking along the uneven bars and then falling. It twists, lands on its feet, gives the camera a disgruntled look, and then continues haughtily on its way, apparently none the worse for its tumble.

_Tim: Good luck today!_

_Dick: Thanks! Sure you don’t want to come have lessons again when you’re back in Gotham after the summer?_

_Tim: Maybe when we get back from Europe? But probably not. Mom wants me to focus on school now_

_Dick: Yeah, that makes sense I guess. Have fun on your trip!_

_Tim: 😃_

Idly checking the other notifications on his phone, he frowns, wondering if Tim’s really as happy as he seems about all the changes in his life lately. Dick has been a bit distracted, what with nationals and the Olympic trials keeping him busy, but if something was wrong, Tim would tell him, right? He can’t help but remember how tired the thirteen year old looked when he came by the gym the other week and broke the news that he wasn’t going to be taking lessons anymore.

It’s good that his parents are finally taking more of an interest in him, bringing him along on one of their trips and helping plan his schedule. But does that really mean he has to give up on gymnastics entirely?

Well, at least he still texts once in a while, and answers when Dick checks in with him. He’s not sure what he’d do if the younger teen stopped responding to those, even if the frequency has dropped now that he’s safe in his parents’ care. Ever since he first began training Tim a year ago and learned how often he was home alone, Dick made a point to text him at least once a day just to make sure he was okay. It wasn’t like anyone else was looking out for the kid.

_If only everyone had someone like Aunt Harriet to look after them, this would be a better, happier world._

Thinking of the kind, caring, strong woman who raised him after he lost his parents, Dick smiles, then runs his fingers through his hair. Maybe he filled a hole in her life—after all, she lost her soulmate when his uncle passed away after a long illness, just three months before the tragedy that took his parents. She’s worked so hard, and things have always been tight.

Dick working part time at the gym in exchange for training space helped, and Janet Drake seeking him out and offering a princely sum for teaching Tim helped even more. Not for the first time, he wonders if she remembered him and sought him out specifically to do him a favor. It hardly matters, anyway. He got a great paycheck and a wonderful friendship out of the arrangement either way.

Of course, Aunt Harriet wouldn’t hear of accepting any of Dick’s money for household needs, but if he makes it to the Olympics and manages to win a medal, he’ll finally be able to take care of her. Money from endorsements can pay off her mortgage, as well as the second mortgage she thinks he doesn’t know about. If he does well enough, he can be set for life as a coach. Maybe he’ll even get to pursue his real passion, acrobatic gymnastics and tumbling.

Something on the phone screen catches his eye, a Gotham headline proclaiming _New Costume, or New Partner?_

Clicking on it out of curiosity—ever since Batman helped solve his parents’ murder, Dick has avidly followed any news about the hero and, in recent years, his young partner, Shrike—Dick tilts his head, taking in the accompanying photograph. The vigilante at Batman’s side looks shorter and a bit scrawnier than usual. The figure is dressed in all black, and the article says Shrike has changed his callsign to Crow.

 _Too bad they went for a change. I think the old costume was better,_ Dick thinks as a rumble over the loudspeakers has him shoving his phone into his bag and rising to his feet in one graceful motion. _I liked the bright yellow and white accents against the dark background on the Shrike costume. They were so cheerful._

Working through a quick routine to limber up a bit, he focuses his mind back on the trials. If he scores high enough on everything, he’s got a good chance of going to this year’s Olympic Games. If he screws up here, he won’t get another chance for four years. Twenty-one would be old for a competitive gymnast.

Well, it’s now or never.

Thoughtfully, Dick pulls on his ring grips, clenching and releasing his hands a few times. He chalks up for added grip before approaching the rings, rolling his shoulders and grinning like a madman.

_This is it. I can feel it. Time to fly!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, excited about gymnastics lessons:** “Yay, I’m gonna learn gymnastics so I can parkour all over the city chasing Batman—holy crap it’s Dick Grayson!”  
>  **Dick, flipping and tumbling casually over:** “Hey there” *Smiles charmingly*  
>  **Tim, panicking:** *Mentally vows not to say anything to let Dick know he was there the night the Graysons fell, immediately fails and blurts it out* “Oh, crap!”  
>  **Dick, momentarily stricken but recovering quickly:** “Uh, let’s just do some stretches”  
>  **Tim, watching Dick twisting and stretching his magnificent physique:** *Enters puberty* “Oh CRAP”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning this chapter for very brief suicidal ideation.

The house feels empty, as though it will never be warm and full of life again. Alone in his room, Tim slowly slides down the wall and wraps his arms around his knees. Burying his face in his sweatshirt sleeves, he finally allows himself to loosen the tight grip he has on his emotions for the first time since he found—his mind goes white rather than face that image again. Drawing in a shuddering breath, he releases it in a high-pitched whine of pain and denial.

His father’s last words ricochet through his mind, tearing open gaping emotional wounds instead of providing the reassurance the man must have intended. _“I need you to know this, Tim. It’s not your fault. Okay? You didn’t do this.”_

But it _was_ his fault. If he’d never stepped up in the wake of Shrike’s death, never become Crow and fought by Batman’s side, his dad would still be alive. Maybe not his mom, considering the plane crash that took her away had nothing to do with Batman, but his dad… He’d tried so hard, working to recover physically from the injuries incurred when he survived, and trying to put the pieces back together emotionally after the devastation of losing his soulmate. He deserved better than this.

Jack Drake’s voice, strained but steady, still echoes in his ears. _“I love you, Tim. I love you just like your mother loves you.”_

Clutching his hair, Tim curls forward, jaw clenched and eyes burning as he shakes with painful, near-silent sobs he can’t quite suppress. It’s true. His parents love him the exact same way now. From the past, because they’re both dead, and gone forever. Just like Kon, and Bart, and Steph. Everyone he loves, all his most important people—they all keep _leaving_. Now that he’s the last one standing, the agony of their loss is bringing him to his knees.

 _I’m not strong enough,_ he thinks desperately. _I can’t do this all on my own._

Only, he’s not sure what other path he could have taken to avoid all this. He’d idolized Batman from early childhood, following him with his camera from what was probably far too young an age. The moment he’d heard Batman’s new partner speak and seen him fight, he’d connected the dots between Shrike and the orphan from Park Row he’d met at a gala a few weeks previously. Jason Todd had used the exact same words and moves to defend him from an older would-be bully. Once he’d figured out Shrike’s identity, Batman’s was obvious. After all, Bruce Wayne had the right height, build, and the untold wealth needed to support a vigilante career, and he’d recently adopted Jason.

When Shrike disappeared and Batman grew dangerously reckless, well, it wasn’t like Tim could just stand by and watch him self-destruct. Everyone they’ve saved, all the lives he has changed for the better during his time as Crow—he doesn’t regret any of them. So how could he wish to undo it all? Even though it feels like the tragedies he’s experienced have left him hollowed out and broken.

 _What good am I, really, if I can’t even save my best friends? My girlfriend? My own_ dad?

At least he and Steph never formed a soul bond. Every time they’d kissed, he’d wondered, but if never happened. A bond never clicked into place. And now that she’s gone, it never will.

Who does he even have left at this point? There’s Bruce, of course, but Tim can’t help wondering how much of his mentor’s concern is for the state of his vigilante partner, Crow, and how little is truly for Tim Drake, the grieving, hurt sixteen year old kid.

Jason’s been some help, gruffly sympathetic and caring for the younger teen he remembers standing up for back when they were kids, but he has his own underlying issues to deal with. He _died_ and came back to life in his own grave; of course he has issues. Besides, he may look out for Crow on patrol and try to keep him safe, but they haven’t really known each other long enough for him to truly understand the complex mixture of feelings Tim has about his father’s death. There aren’t many people who ever knew how absent his parents were throughout his childhood, or how cautiously hopeful he felt when his dad seemed like he might finally be making an effort to actually get to know him.

Most of those people are dead now.

Sorrow rises like a tide and threatens to overwhelm him. For a brief, guilty moment he thinks about Captain Boomerang’s gun, sitting in the evidence locker. It would be so easy…

Then a disparate noise shakes him out of his funk. He looks around, blinking and tilting his head as he tries to figure out why the heck the Olympic theme is playing right now.

 _Did I leave the TV on or something?_ Only, he doesn’t remember turning the television on when he got home and stumbled up here, vision blurry and head aching.

Tim raises his head and glances around, wiping away tears and sniffling loudly. Finally, he realizes his pocket is ringing. Oh. Pulling out his phone, he swipes right without even thinking about whether he’s up to talking to anyone right now. Of course, there’s only one person in his contacts list who has the Olympic theme as their ringtone. “Hey Dick. Shouldn’t you be competing right now?” Realizing his voice sounds like he’s been gargling gravel, he clears his throat, hoping the other man won’t notice.

Of course, that’s too much to ask. “Hey, Tim. How’s it going? Are you okay?” Dick’s concern is audible. “I just heard.”

_Dick’s competing in the Olympics, trying to defend all his medals from four years ago against younger gymnasts. The last thing he needs right now is to burden himself with me and all my problems._

“I’m fine,” Tim says, doing his best to sound like that’s the truth. It doesn’t work.

“Oh, Timmy…” Dick sounds like he wants to give him a huge hug, which is actually a very appealing idea right now. But he shouldn’t be wasting time talking to some high school kid whose only claim to his friendship is a year of gymnastics lessons, over four years ago now.

“Dick, seriously, I’m fine. Get back to being awesome and winning medals. You don’t have time for this right now.” _You don’t have time for me. It’s okay. I understand._

“I’m not scheduled for any events for the next forty minutes. You’re not catching me at a bad time, I was just grabbing a drink and taking a break. There’s plenty of time, so talk to me.”

And that warm, caring tone, the way Tim can close his eyes and _see_ the other man’s kind, concerned expression and practically feel the hug he’d be wrapped in if they were in the same time zone right now… Well, it’s too much. His defenses begin to crumble and a sob breaks loose, then another. “I’m sorry,” he manages to choke out. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, Tim. I _know_ how it feels to lose your parents. I can’t make the hurt go away, but I’m here and I care about you, okay? You’re not alone.”

And that’s enough to break through the dam completely. Tim lets himself cry freely for the first time since he found his father’s still-warm, bleeding body, just minutes too late.

Dick takes it all, giving him reassurance and support in return. Just talking to the successful, buoyant man is a reminder that the agony he’s feeling right now doesn’t have to be permanent, that there is a chance to move on from tragedy. After all, Dick’s living proof of that.

“Thanks, Dick,” Tim finally whispers, feeling emptied out after his emotional outburst, and oddly lighter as a result. “Think maybe I’ll tune in to the games and cheer you on. Take my mind off things a little.”

He can hear the grin in Dick’s voice when he answers. “Just watch. Tonight, I’ll win it for you.”

* * *

Dick ends the call and tries to ignore the nagging feeling that maybe he shouldn’t have. He wishes he could see Tim in person, fly out to Gotham right now and make sure the teen isn’t alone, but he just can’t. The timing is all wrong. This is going to be his last Olympics, he can tell. Twenty-one is old for an Olympic gymnast, so he’s already accepted he isn’t ever going to be back. Well, maybe as a coach someday.

_I just wish I could be there when it counts for everyone who matters to me. Especially Tim. He’s one of the last links to my old life, and he’s so good. Deserves so much better than the childhood he had, and now this._

What happened to Jack Drake made headlines because it was so brutal, even for Gotham. And the thought of poor Tim having to cope with that tragedy, having already lost his mom a few years back in that plane crash… Dick winces and scrubs at his face. As far as he knows, there isn’t any kind, loving Aunt Harriet waiting in the wings to step in and give the teen the care and support he so desperately needs. Maybe he can see if Aunt Harriet would be willing to become a foster parent, just so Tim can have a safe place? Except the idea of being brothers doesn’t quite sit well with him, for some reason.

His brow furrows in distress and he stands, pacing with restless energy. He wants to go perform, finish all his events as fast as possible so he can get on a plane back home and be there for his friend. Unfortunately, he can’t control the timing of events and there’s no way he’s getting out of here before the closing ceremonies in six days. Sighing, Dick forces his body to relax and tries to concentrate on running through his routine in his mind. He’ll just have to trust that Tim will be okay on his own for now.

“From the United States, Richard Grayson.” He steps forward as the echoes of his name fade through the air and the crowd goes quiet, expectant.

Well, he knows Tim is watching right now. Dick grins. Maybe he can give his friend something to cheer him up a little. His tumbling floor routine is always a heck of a show, and he has a little idea that might make Tim smile. It’ll cost him some points changing things up at the last minute like this, but he’ll gain them back in technical difficulty. After all, the quadruple flip isn’t exactly a standard move, and for good reason.

Grinning, he starts off with a quick tumbling pass, warming up with an aerial walkover and nailing the landing. With barely a pause and without turning around, he moves directly into a back handspring, flowing into a backwards somersault and tumbling to the far corner of the mat. His entire body moves dynamically as he grins and bounces seamlessly through his routine, his trademark flair on full display as the natural performer in him takes over.

As he moves, Dick feels like he’s floating and at the same time more alive than he’s ever been. The bright lights and the thrill of performing hit him the same way every time, and it’s the best feeling in the world. The murmur of the crowds is energizing, and with each aerial move it’s like gravity is losing its hold on him. He practically floats through his triple twisting double layout move.

Spontaneously, he changes his front-split handstand into a one-armed front-split handstand and holds the pose, feeling the burn in his shoulders and loving it. Now it’s time for his final tumbling pass, the big finish. He gets a running start, tumbles, and puts everything he has into the quadruple backward tucked. He usually just does a double here, and simply working up the height and speed this late in his program to pull off the quadruple is a feat of strength challenging even to him. But it feels like he’s got it—only one way to find out. One, two, three, _four_ flips, the world spinning crazily around him in a blur of lights, and then he’s landing, knees bent trying to contain his momentum and not lose points—and he’s done it. Straightening, smiling so hard it hurts, Dick raises his arms high.

The applause is deafening, but all he can think about is someone far away, and the smile he hopes he put on his hurting friend’s face.

_That one was for you, Timmy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, hurting and alone:** *Lies on floor surrounded by photos of his dead friends and family, listening to emo music and crying: “I’m so sad”  
>  **Dick, at the Olympics:** “My Tim-sense is a-tinglin’!” *Whips out phone and calls Tim while performing one-handed on the floor routine* “Timmy~! You matter and I care about you!”  
>  **Tim, pulling out his phone and answering with a loud sniff:** “Oh. Um. Thanks?” *Smiles hesitantly, turns on show to watch Olympics* “Wait wtf are you actually PERFORMING right now? Hang up the phone, you madman!”  
>  **Dick, completing impossibly difficult quadruple flip while still clutching phone in one hand:** “This one’s for you, Timmy~!”  
> *  
> Quotes this chapter adapted from Identity Crisis #5, Robin Vol. 2 #156.


	3. Chapter 3

Batman stares at him, arms crossed over his broad chest, and shakes his head before swaggering over to the Batcomputer. It’s wrong, all _wrong,_ from the smirk on his face to the way he puts his boots up on the desk and tilts back the chair. Then he opens his mouth and shatters the illusion completely. “He’s fuckin’ dead, Timbo, ya gotta admit it. We saw the damn corpse. Careful there, or pretty soon you’re gonna start makin’ _me_ look sane.”

Tim scowls, raw and aching with grief from losing Bruce so soon after everyone else. It feels like the ground is washing out from beneath his feet as everything he’s ever loved is stripped away, one precious person at a time. There’s almost nothing left, and he isn’t sure how much longer he can go without falling. _This_ situation isn’t helping. He’s not in any kind of mood to deal with his occasionally homicidal almost brother’s dubious sense of humor. “Take off the damn cowl, Jason, unless you’re planning to hide behind the Bat for this whole conversation.”

The big man snorts, then shoves the cowl back and Jason looks at him, concern written clearly across his face now that it’s visible. “Seriously, kid, I’m fuckin’ worried about you.”

_I don’t want your worry, I need your support._

“Is that why you decided to replace me?” Tim’s face twists at the memory of walking down the stairs to the Cave and seeing _Damian_ in one of his old suits. Not that he’d really wanted to be Crow to Jason’s Batman, but it still stings that the other man would choose a mostly-feral brat over him. Then again, considering the new dynamic duo’s mutual history with the League of Assassins, their styles may be a better fit. He shudders to imagine what might happen now that Batman is being worn by a man who hasn’t hesitated to kill ever since his mysterious return from the dead. “Figure he’ll be less of a hindrance when you feel like bringing guns on patrol?”

“That’s not it.” Jason scowls, then looks away. “I ain’t gonna bring guns when I’m wearing this suit. Figure the old man deserves that much, even if he _was_ a sour, self-righteous asshole.”

Tim’s brows rise, honest surprise causing him to blurt out, “Jay?” The relationship between Jason and the rest of the family has been fraught ever since he came back _angry,_ and tried to upend the power balance in Gotham. He’d been so furious with Batman, in ways neither of them seemed to know how to resolve.

At least his resentment had never seemed to extend to Crow. Tim smiles, remembering the first time Red Hood jumped between him and a fight. “Don’t bite off more than you can chew, brat,” the man had growled, then proceeded to beat the living shit out of a half dozen enhanced mercenaries. Crow had watched, fifteen and wide eyed at this random vigilante who kept showing up to protect him, grumbling all the while. It had all made a lot more sense once Red Hood’s identity eventually came out.

_I thought we were good. That Jason thought of me as family, even. How can he just throw me away like this?_

Jason rubs his eyes, looking tired. “I’m still gonna go out as Red Hood sometimes, take care of things that need handling,” he explains, shrugging. “But I… Fuck. No matter what was between us, all the fighting and bullshit, B was the best goddamn dad I ever had. Low fuckin’ bar, but still.”

Tim blinks, processing. Regret stabs through him, that Bruce isn’t here to see this and know how deeply his son still cares about him. It just acts to harden his resolve. Bruce is alive, he _has_ to be. “Okay. So it’s not the killing thing, you just want _him_ as your partner. Fine.” Straightening his shoulders, he turns to go, hating the way it feels like he’s just been punched in the gut. At least if it had been about the no-kill rule, it wouldn’t have been a rejection of Tim, personally.

“What? _Fuck_ no, he’s fuckin’ rabid and I won’t be able to patrol without watching my back in case he’s about to jab a katana in it just to test my reflexes, the little shit.” Jason looks and sounds unaccountably fond. “Naw, but I promised his mom I’d look after him. And I saw how he grew up in the League, that’s no kinda life for a kid. Fuck knows I’m a shitty role model, but at least he’ll have Alfie around.”

“Why does he have to patrol, anyway? He’s _eleven.”_

“Kid was trained from the cradle for this, Timbo. Now that his dad’s gone, he’s got nothing tying him to Gotham. If I don’t put him in a suit, he’ll go back to the League and the next time we see him it’ll be as a fuckin’ supervillain.” Jason snorts. “At least with me, he’ll be an antihero. Probably.”

Tim shakes his head, lips twitching into a slight smile. “You’re a hero, Jay.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “Alright, I get it. But did you have to give him _my_ suit? My _name?”_

_I just… I know I don’t belong in the family, not really. I pushed my way in, after all. But I never thought I’d be replaced so easily._

Jason twitches so hard his boots thump to the ground as he turns to stare at him with wide, shocked eyes. “What? Oh, fuck no! He was just wearin’ your old suit earlier ‘cause it’s the only one tiny enough to fit him. I’d never try to take away your _name,_ Tim, what the fuck? Naw, the kid’s goin’ by Rukk. Like the giant mythological bird? Goddamn Napoleon complex, I swear… We’ll make him a new suit soon, just haven’t had time yet. Of fuckin’ _course_ you’re still Crow. Idiot. Like we’d ever take your fuckin’ _identity_ like that, what kinda assholes do you think we are?”

And Tim’s blinking tears out of his eyes, because yes, that’s exactly what he thought was happening here. With a muttered curse, Jason heaves himself to his feet and stomps over to him to take him roughly in his arms. The hug is awkward, just a little too tight, and the way Jason is vigorously patting him on the back is less comforting than he probably thinks it is.

It’s awesome. “Thanks, Jay,” Tim mutters after a while, backing away and scrubbing at his eyes self-consciously.

Jason regards him levelly. “So, now that we figured out that bullshit, you’re gonna stay, right? Help me and the kid patrol? I promise I’ll keep an eye on him, watch out for if he gets carried away and tries to stab you again.”

Tim bites his lip, then shakes his head. “Tempting as that offer is, I still have something I need to do. And you’ll probably have an easier time keeping Damian in line without me around, considering he seems to see red every time I’m in the room.”

Jason winces. “Yeah, Talia got her claws into him pretty deep on that subject. I think she convinced him he has to prove himself by taking you down with his bare hands and then, fuck, paint his face in your warm blood or something? I dunno, I’m just guessing on that last part.”

_What the fuck, Jay?_

“What the actual fuck, are you serious?”

“I mean, I was still fuckin’ catatonic when she used to make me babysit for the brat, so I remember more general impressions than actual words, but I’m pretty sure there were literally targets with your face on them set up at one point.”

“Holy shit, _why?”_

Jason shrugs. “Just because I’m crazy doesn’t mean I automatically understand other kinds of crazy, Timbo.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “You’re not crazy, Jason. You’re just an asshole.”

Grinning, Jason strides back over to the Batcomputer and flops down in the chair again. “Hell yeah. Fine, go find yourself or whatever, but call for help if you need it.”

“You’ve got all of Gotham to deal with, plus the demon brat—”

“I don’t give a shit about that. You need help, you call home, got it? Or else I’m fuckin’ pulling the Alfred card and you ain’t leaving the Manor again ‘till you’re eighteen.”

_Harsh._

“Fine. I’ll call if I need your help.” It isn’t even a lie. Of course, Jason’s definition of needing help is probably very different from his. Best not point that out.

“And you’ll come home when you’ve found whatever the fuck kinda closure you’re looking for. Even if it ain’t what you wanted when you set out.”

Tim has to turn away from the understanding, almost pitying look on his big brother’s face. “Yeah.”

Jason nods, looking suddenly older and wearier. “Fine then. Be careful, kid.” He gives Tim a crooked smile. “Seeya on the flip side.”

“Bye, Jay.” Everything’s a damn mess, Damian wants to bathe in his blood, and for all his support, Jason definitely still thinks he’s going crazy. His world’s still crumbling around him, but at least his brother cares. And if he brings Bruce home, maybe the man can fix some of this. If nothing else, he can parent his own damn kid, and work to make peace with Jason. Tim owes it to his old mentor to at least _try._ It’s obvious no one else will. 

* * *

The warm breeze feels great, lifting Dick’s hair and playing with it as he wanders aimlessly through Berlin. He’s just tooling around enjoying himself now that the World Cup is over and the team is on their way home. Coaching has been a dream come true, just what he’d hoped for. Even if it is a little dull sometimes between events. He shakes his head, pushing away that thought. What he has should be enough. He’s got so much, he shouldn’t be wishing for a more adventurous life as well.

“Freeze!” The commanding voice draws his attention over to what looks like some kind of altercation in front of the Berlin-Tegel Airport. “Hands in the air, _now!_ Or we _will_ shoot!”

The wisest course would probably be to walk away slowly. So of course, Dick swerves and edges closer, trying to get a better view of what’s going on. His tumbling skills and the basic martial arts training he took when he was a teenager have helped him apprehend a few low-level pickpockets over the years. He’s no Batman, but maybe he can help if something happens. As he draws nearer, though, he hears a voice that turns his blood to ice.

“What is this about, sergeant? I really think there’s been a misunderstanding here…”

 _What is Tim Drake doing here? And why are those soldiers pointing_ guns _at him?_

Dick moves closer still, now intent on closely observing the proceedings. It doesn’t escape his attention that there are three other onlookers moving against the crowd and making their way closer, as well. He narrows his eyes, watching them. A couple of well-dressed men, and a young woman. By the looks on their faces, they mean business. Just how do they fit into all this? What has Tim gotten himself into here?

He glances back over to the soldiers, now close enough to see and hear easily even though they are no longer shouting. “Alvin Draper, you are being brought in for questioning.” The lead soldier stares down at Tim, not lowering his gun as he speaks to the young man kneeling at his feet, hands in the air. “The German government has requested aid in recovering an artifact stolen out of Berlin… and you are a person of interest, Mister Draper.”

_What the heck? Stolen artifacts? No way Tim’s involved in something like that!_

The three bystanders move forward in a purposeful manner, but Dick’s faster. Easing his way through the grouped soldiers to stand before their spokesman and trying to ignore the way several of the guns swerve to point at him, he gives them his most charming grin. “Hello there, the name’s Dick Grayson. I was walking past and couldn’t help but overhear you accosting my student, _Tim Drake._ Now, I know he has one of those faces, but this man is _definitely_ not Allen Draper or whatever. Look, you’ve got the wrong guy.” Tim stares up at him, an astonished expression on his cute face. Hopefully he plays along.

The sergeant scowls. “Excuse me, sir, you are interfering in official business. I’m going to have to ask you to move along—”

One of the other soldiers interrupts. “Wait, is that _Dick Grayson?_ You’re a legend, the way you swept the events in your last Olympics—look, can I have your autograph? Actually, can I have a few, my kids are fans too—” He holsters his weapon and digs into his pocket, flushing in excitement.

“Private, what are you doing?” The sergeant seems put out, but he’s lowering his gun now as well, so that’s a point in Dick’s favor.

“This is Dick Grayson, American Olympic gymnast, with four golds! He’s the best, and he’s here with his country’s team for the World Cups. If this is one of his boys, then we _must_ have the wrong guy.” The soldier shoves a pen and notepad over to Dick, who obligingly signs with a big smile.

“I can assure you, Timothy Jackson Drake is a gymnast in training, here to observe my team’s performance at World’s, and not an international thief or whatever you were saying when I came over here.” Dick pulls out his phone and quickly looks up Tim’s profile on the Wayne Enterprises website. “He also works for a respectable international corporation. You may have heard of Wayne Enterprises?”

The sergeant glances at his phone, frowning. It looks like he’s starting to second guess himself. Dick presses his advantage. “Timmy, do your basic floor routine for them.”

Tim looks up at him from his position crouching in the middle of the group of soldiers, hands still raised to show he isn’t a threat. “Uh, Dick?” He glances around at the lowered but still drawn weapons. “Right now?” His voice rises in pitch and there’s a visible tremor in his hands.

“You guys are scaring him,” Dick admonishes, and the soldiers holster their weapons, looking marginally guilty.

“Go ahead, kid. You look more like Tim Drake-Wayne than Alvin Draper anyway. We only grabbed you because we had an anonymous tip Draper was in the area, and you fit the profile well enough. If you can do a gymnastic routine like Grayson here says, we’ll let you go.” The sergeant looks a lot more relaxed now, like he’s already decided Tim’s harmless. Thank goodness.

“Uh, okay.” Tim swallows, then rises shakily to his feet.

“Take a minute. Breathe in, let it out.” Dick watches as his former student settles. “Okay, now go.”

Tim takes off in a series of front handsprings, taking it easy and finishing off with a simple aerial walkover. It wouldn’t be safe to do much more here, not with the hard concrete and limited space, but Dick can see by the expressions on the soldiers’ faces that they’re convinced.

_Whew, that’s a relief. Now I just have to get him out of here, past those three creepers who are still watching from the shadows._

“Good job, Tim! I think we need to work on that landing, though.” Dick grins as Tim makes a face at him.

“I’d like to see _you_ stick a landing in these conditions.” Tim’s eyes widen as Dick beams before taking off in his own tumbling sequence, this one backward handsprings ending in a backwards triple tucked because he’s nothing if not showy. Nailing the landing perfectly, he raises his arms and then laughs at the applause from the soldiers and the various passerby who paused to observe the impromptu show.

“I apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Drake-Wayne.” The sergeant waves them along. Dick signs a couple more autographs, and then they’re on their way. Tim’s laughing as they walk away, shaking his head, but Dick notices the other man casting a quick glance over at the shadows as they walk by. His suspicion that something bigger is going on here deepens.

It’s confirmed when they turn a corner and find themselves facing the three strangers in a secluded alley. All of them look _pissed._ They have weapons drawn and aimed like they know exactly how to use them.

_Welp, guess I didn’t even have to wish for adventure, it found me anyway._

Dick crouches into a defensive stance, ready to do what he can to hold them off so Tim can run back to the more populated streets and escape. Then he stares in utter shock as the teen leaps over his head, engaging all three assailants in a whirlwind of movements so perfectly choreographed it’s like a deadly dance. Dick blinks, then dives into the fray, using his basic martial arts skills and formidable acrobatic talents to excellent effect.

The three enemies are incredible, but the tide turns when Dick manages to elbow the woman in the face, breaking her nose and sending her out of the fight. Tim produces a long staff from somewhere and fends off the other two, then teams up with Dick to push the attack hard enough that all three eventually retreat, sputtering curses. The leader seems to be whispering furiously into a communication device in his ear.

Tim lowers his staff to the ground and blows out a long breath, causing his bangs to flutter away from his forehead for a moment before falling back into his eyes.

“So,” Dick says conversationally as they watch the three disappear back into the shadows from whence they came, “you gonna tell me what this is all about?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Jason in the Batman suit:** *Cracks open a beer, sprawls on a chair, and puts his feet up on the Batcomputer* “Yo Timmers, why the long face?”  
>  **Tim, staring at him with weird look on his face:** *Shakes his head* “Sorry, it’s just so bizarre to see Batman grinning and cracking lewd jokes all the time”  
>  **Jason in the Batman suit:** “Fuck yeah, that asshole was such a bastard. You still gonna go lookin’ for him? Listen, you find him, tell him he can have this shit back. Chafes like a sonofabitch”  
> *  
>  **Dick, blithely wandering around Berlin:** “Yay, my life is awesome! If only it was a little more exciting—” *Spots Tim on the ground, being yelled at by soldiers pointing guns at him* “Oh god, too much excitement! I take it back, can I take it back?”  
>  **Tim, confused:** “Dick? Uh…”  
>  **Dick, grabbing him by the hand and running for it:** “C’mon, Timmy! But when we get outta this mess, you’re gonna have some explaining to do!”  
>  **Tim, kicking assassin ass as they run:** “That’s fair”  
> *  
> Quotes this chapter adapted from Red Robin #4.


	4. Chapter 4

Tim shoulders his way through the door into a cheap motel room, then just stands there as Dick follows him in and closes the door behind them. Everything’s such a mess right now.

_I cannot believe my untrained civilian friend just saved me from being legally detained. And then he fought off a squad of League assassins with me, because_ of course _he did. This is just how my life goes. I shouldn’t be surprised anymore when everything keeps going exponentially more wrong._

“Well?” Dick’s voice behind him is low but commanding. He sounds worryingly determined, like he’s not going to back off or accept anything less than the truth.

Tim blinks, weighing his options. The best probable outcomes boil down to two choices: either he lets Dick in and tells him _everything,_ or else he ends their friendship right here. That’s what he probably should do, for his old friend’s sake if nothing else. He closes his eyes, feeling overwhelmed with a sense of emptiness. It’s like he’s hollow inside, still echoing with all the losses he’s endured over the past few years.

_I can’t lose anyone else. I’m sorry, Dick. This isn’t fair to you, but I don’t think I’m strong enough to lose you, too._

Tim drags a hand over his face, mutters a curse, and then turns to face those familiar dark blue eyes, now staring at him with such keen interest. “I’m Crow,” he says, going for the blunt, pulling off a bandaid approach. “Bruce Wayne was Batman. Everyone I know thinks he’s dead right now, and I can’t even blame them. My mentally unstable, possibly-a-zombie big brother is wearing the cowl these days, there’s a baby assassin running around in my old suit and calling himself Rukk, and I’m trying to prove Bruce isn’t actually dead, just lost in time.”

He bites his lip and braces himself for disbelief and accusations of having gone insane, or worse, gentle expressions of sympathy and pity. Everyone else he’s talked to about this reacted that way—Steph, Cassie, even Jason, despite his rough offer of support. No one is willing to give him a chance. His shoulders droop as he waits for Dick to spin on his heel and walk right back out of his life. That would be par for the course at this point.

“Huh,” Dick says, tilting his head thoughtfully to one side. “This actually explains a lot.”

_What?_

“Wait, what?” Tim’s voice rasps, and he clears his throat. “That’s it? I just confessed all my biggest secrets, some of which involve illegal activities or worse, and you’re just, what? _Rolling_ with it?” By the end of his rant, he’s flailing his arms through the air for emphasis.

Dick watches him calmly, then steps forward, gently wraps an arm around his shoulders, and leads him over to the couch. “How long has it been since you’ve slept, Tim?” His voice is so soothing.

“It’s been a while, but I’m fine.” Tim blinks, squeezing his eyes shut hard before opening them again. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Dick says, nudging him down onto the couch and sitting right beside him. The warmth of their thighs touching feels so nice, as does his arm which is still around Tim’s shoulder. The comforting weight makes him sigh. As does Dick’s amazing scent, which…

Tim’s eyes unfocus for a moment, then he forces himself to concentrate. Now is definitely not the time for a resurgence of the childhood crush that never actually went away. “What did you mean, this makes a lot of sense?”

Dick shrugs, then sighs, arm around his shoulders squeezing momentarily. “It’s crazy, but in hindsight it just fits. You know, there were always things about you that didn’t quite add up. You were too driven for a kid with your background who didn’t want to compete professionally. You wanted to spend so many hours training, and you were so committed. And the skills you valued most were—well, let’s just say they were unusual.”

Blushing furiously, Tim frantically scans back over memories of his old gymnastics lessons. Okay, so maybe he was a little too interested in parkour and skills that could best be utilized while climbing and jumping around an urban landscape. “What else?”

“Well, you disappeared on me to travel in Europe with your parents the summer you were thirteen. But… There were a few press releases Drake Industries put out, saying your parents were in Japan or the UK. And when I texted you, you told me you guys were all having fun in Paris or whatever. I just figured the press releases were misleading somehow, but this goes a ways to explaining the disconnect. You were training to be Crow then, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. Even after I came back, I was too busy to go back to the gym. And Bruce discouraged it once he found out you were involved. He…”

Dick frowns, tensing slightly. “He what?”

“He felt protective of you, I think. He’d been in the crowd when your parents fell, and worked to solve their case because he identified with your having lost them. I bet if your Aunt Harriet hadn’t stepped forward back then, he would’ve probably tried to adopt you, or at least gotten you placed somewhere safe.” Tim picks at a thread on his pants. “He didn’t want me putting you in danger. He was right. After all, my dad—” His throat tightens painfully and he breaks off.

Dick turns to face him, looking alarmed. “Hey, _no._ Oh, god, is that—Tim, even if someone came after people you cared about because you were a vigilante, that isn’t your fault. The bad guy who chose to hurt someone is to blame, not you.” He takes Tim’s shoulders in his hands and gives him a tiny shake, then pulls him in for a tight hug. “I’m so sorry. I wish I had known about all this before so I could have been there for you.”

Sniffling, Tim smiles into Dick’s shoulder. “Are you kidding? You were always there for me. You’re the only one I could always count on, even if you didn’t have all the details.”

“I’m glad I helped.”

Tim feels something press against his hair. Was that a kiss? It feels like his face is going to catch on fire as his heart pounds.

In his arms, Dick’s chest expands in a long, slow inhalation. “So wait. I’ll ask about the zombie thing later, but Rukk? If that’s supposed to be another bird name, I don’t recognize it. Who the heck is the baby assassin you mentioned, and why is he wearing your old costume again?”

That makes Tim chuckle against his will. “His name is Damian. He’s Bruce’s biological son who was raised by assassins and just showed up like a month before B’s supposed death. He’s apparently calling himself Rukk, for the huge, powerful, mythical bird, which is particularly hilarious because he’s _tiny.”_

“Wow, tinier than you? That’s pretty small.” Dick snickers like an asshole.

_Glass houses, my friend._

“Dick, you’re five-foot eight. You have no room to talk.”

“Hey, professional gymnasts are short. I’m on the tall side for one! And you’re what, five-five? I could rest my elbow on your head.”

“Yeah, maybe if you stood on a stool.” Breaking into a grin, Tim pulls back and looks at Dick. “Thanks. I’m glad you’re here.” As Dick begins to smile back, handsome face brightening, Tim continues, “but you have to go. What I’m doing, it’s not safe.”

Dick’s brows lower and he shakes his head decisively, arms tightening. “That’s not going to be happening, Timmy.”

Tim inhales to protest, but the other man cuts him off.

“No, just listen to me for a minute. You don’t have the full story about me.” Tim frowns as Dick continues. “After my parents—after that night, I was convinced there was foul play involved. The frayed cable, the man I’d overheard making threats, it all added up, but no one would listen. Even Aunt Harriet just hugged me and tried to help me with my grief, when what I really wanted was justice for my mom and dad.”

Tim wraps himself around Dick’s arm, curling into his side and hoping the other man can feel how sorry he is that he ever had to endure such pain. “Batman got the guy eventually, right? I remember the file.”

“Well, I bet it didn’t have the full story. I started going out at night to investigate and try to track down my parents’ murderer—”

_“What?_ Oh my god, Dick, you were _nine!”_

_That seems so young! Hmm, maybe best not mention that’s about how old I was when I started following Batman and Shrike around. Glass houses, and all that._

“...Yeah. Lets just say Batman was not pleased when he found out. He listened to me, took all the evidence I’d gathered, and then brought me straight home to Aunt Harriet.”

“Holy shit.”

“Right? She cried, it was horrible. I felt awful about upsetting her, especially so soon after she lost my parents. Dad was her little brother and losing him was really hard on her. She lost her soulmate that year, too. Finding out I’d been putting myself at risk like that—well, she couldn’t deal with the thought of me getting hurt.”

“That’s tough,” Tim offers. “So that was the end of that?”

Dick nods, a rueful expression on his face. “I ended up promising never to sneak out to do anything like that again. Batman lectured me about putting myself at risk when I had someone who’d be hurt if I died, and said Aunt Harriet was depending on me to keep myself safe.” Dick leans his head back on the couch and relaxes with a sigh. “So Batman solved the case, I stuck to gymnastics and martial arts just for self defense, and I kept up on news and articles about Batman and his partners.” He shrugs. “I’ve always felt a pull, wondered what it would be like to get back out there, but I’ve had a lot of baggage tying me to the ground.”

_That’s… Wow._

“So if you were watching, then you must have noticed when Shrike disappeared.” Tim doesn’t wait for Dick’s puzzled nod, instead continuing immediately. “That was Jason Todd, as you might have guessed based on me being Crow and Bruce being Batman.”

“He died on the job, didn’t he? The official story was just a cover.” Dick looks saddened, but it’s not enough. From everything Tim knows about the other man, added to all these revelations tonight, he’s definitely going to offer to help at some point. And that would put him at unacceptable risk, so it mustn’t be allowed.

“He was tortured and then left to die in an explosion by the Joker.” Tim closes his eyes, hearing and feeling Dick’s tiny inhale at that. “But that’s not even the worst. He woke up in his coffin at some point, dug his way out, and then was too confused and hurt to make it home. The League of Assassins picked him up and dunked him in a Lazarus Pit which basically healed him but dialed his inner crazy up to eleven. Then they brainwashed him against Batman and sent him home.” Even talking about what was done to Jason makes him feel sick.

“That’s horrible. Wait, is this the zombie big brother you mentioned?”

Tim snickers wetly. “Yeah. He’s doing a lot better now, but… It’s still pretty bad sometimes. And you remember my ex, Steph?”

Dick nods, looking pensive. “The one who died in that awful gang war.”

“Well, she’s back too. She was Spoiler, and now she’s Batgirl. And remember my friends, Kon and Bart? Also vigilantes.”

“Also alive again now?” Dick’s foot is tapping and he looks like he’s thinking hard about something.

Tim’s heart sinks even as he nods, swallowing. It’s good that the other man is finally starting to comprehend that this isn’t a game. People get hurt, get killed doing this, and that’s not a price Dick Grayson should ever have to pay.

“Well, I’m definitely starting to see your point.”

_Good. Now, the sooner you get out of here, the sooner I can get back to tracking down clues about—_

“What I don’t understand is why everyone’s so skeptical about Bruce being alive when literally every one of the heroes closest to you has already come back from the dead once. I mean, it’s practically a pattern at this point. I wonder if there’s something in the water?” Dick tilts his head, clearly thinking deeply on that point.

Tim snorts, he can’t help it. “We’re from Gotham, of course there’s something in the water. No promises on if it’s chemical waste, three-eyed fish, or Killer Croc, though.”

Dick laughs, resting his chin on Tim’s head. “Timmy, I’m not going to run away just because things are hard or dangerous. Literally the only reason I didn’t step up and become a vigilante years ago was I needed to take care of Aunt Harriet. Well, guess what? With my winnings, she’s provided for now. And if you think _you’re_ not one of the most precious people in the world to me, well, then you haven’t been paying attention. I’m here now, I see you, and I’m not going to let you leave me behind.”

Well, damn. When he puts it like that… It’s suddenly a heck of a lot harder to do the right thing, and send him away.

“Okay,” Tim whispers, feeling overwhelmed and shaky, but in a good way. “Yeah, okay.” He blinks, rapid training programs and contingencies running through his mind as he calculates how best to incorporate Dick into his search without putting him at an unacceptable level of risk. He’ll have to slow things down, of course, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. He has been pushing himself pretty hard lately. He frowns as a thought occurs to him. “Wait, we’re going to have to get you a suit. And think of a vigilante name for you.”

The chest beneath his head shakes with laughter. “Oh, I already thought of that back when I was nine. I’m going to be Robin.”

Tim blinks. Huh. That’s not really the kind of name that strikes fear into the hearts of criminals. “Robin? Really?”

“What? The rest of you all have bird names, and Batman’s named after a flying rodent. So what’s wrong with Robin?” Dick’s still laughing, the big goof.

“Shrike impale their prey on thorns and leave the tiny corpses as a warning for others. Crows are one of the most intelligent birds and are historically known as harbingers of bad luck. The rukk is a mythological monster that could carry off an entire elephant in its vicious talons. The robin, on the other hand, is a tiny, helpless songbird, striking fear into the hearts of literally no one, ever.” Tim huffs, lifting his head.

The man holding him snickers, face stretching in a wide, playful grin. His hands are rubbing Tim’s upper arms now, a circumstance of which he seems unaware. “I notice you had nothing to say in defense of the flying rodent.” Dick lifts a playful eyebrow. “Well?”

“Bats have a long history of association with darkness and fear. I didn’t consider it worth mentioning because it’s so obvious.”

Dick rolls his eyes, gathering Tim in his arms again and snuggling. “Anyway, my call sign is Robin—”

“Damn it, Dick!” There’s no way they’re going to go with Robin. It’s ridiculous. Tim shakes his head, nestling further into the other man’s warmth and just enjoying the proximity and feeling of safety. There will be time to think of a proper name later, after he’s had a chance to just enjoy this moment. It shouldn’t be too hard to convince Dick to choose something more awe-inspiring than a common songbird. Maybe some kind of hawk or falcon.

Definitely not Robin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dick, slamming door shut behind them and leaning on it:** “Timmy, WHY are there assassins chasing us, and is there a reason you’ve been hiding the fact that you’re a total badass?”  
>  **Tim, telling the truth because he’s too damn tired to think of a good lie:** “I’m a vigilante called Crow and I’m on a lonely quest to find Batman” *Does a little flourish* “Tada!”  
>  **Dick, just rolling with it:** “Cool, so where do we start?” *Puts on Robin mask, grins*


	5. Chapter 5

Despite Tim’s unaccountable objections to the name—accompanied by numerous suggested alternate call signs, ranging from the common Sparrowhawk and Gyrfalcon to the mythological Thunderbird—they totally end up going with Robin.

Robin stares at the crude bat symbol, etched into the cave wall and illuminated by the flare held aloft in Crow’s gauntleted hand. Archaeological tools lie scattered on the earthen floor behind them, evidence of the team whose discoveries led Tim to this obscure cavern in a section of desert which is a war zone by day but feels oddly peaceful now, beneath the stars.

“This is what you needed, isn’t it?” he asks after a while, breaking the silence and barely resisting the urge to bounce in anticipation. They haven’t seen any action tonight, and he’s got a lot of pent-up energy after the long drive to this site.

_But from the way Tim’s just been staring at that etching for the past ten minutes, coming out here was totally worth it._

Crow turns, a blinding grin on his handsome face. “I know I’m right. Bruce isn’t dead.” He moves toward the mouth of the cave in a purposeful manner, seemingly energized by the discovery. “This, along with all the other evidence I’ve found, it all adds up. He’s lost in time, unstuck somehow, and he’s been leaving clues for us to find.”

_It’s wild, but I believe him. Wow, what an adventure this is. I wonder if we’re near the end, though?_

He avoids thinking about the melancholy feelings which accompany that thought. “This seems like something other people would want to know,” Robin says carefully. From what Tim has shared over the past few weeks, other heroes are a sore point for him right now. He’s relieved to see Crow nod, seemingly accepting of the idea.

“Yeah, I think I finally have enough evidence to actually get them to listen to me instead of looking sad all the time, and talking about therapists because they think I’ve had a psychotic break.” Without waiting for a reply, Crow heads over to their waiting vehicle. “Come on, Robin!” He muffles a snort, just like he has every time he’s said Dick’s code name since they began working together.

Dick rolls his eyes. It’s a great vigilante name. Besides, his mom used to call him her little robin. He doesn’t have much left of his parents besides his memories and a few worn photographs, so he needs to hold on tight to what little is left. A warm feeling of contentment and happiness washes through him as he remembers that the man beside him is the person who gave him the best photo of his parents, one he cherishes to this day.

_Tim’s been such an important part of my life for so long. I’m really glad I’ve been able to be here for him during this journey. I hate to think what might have happened if he’d been alone._

Well, he probably would have gotten drawn further into the mess between the League of Assassins and the Council of Spiders. That had been ugly, when the trio of assassins following them had been attacked by that weirdo with bug eyes and a sword in each hand. He’d called himself the Widower, and he probably would’ve killed all three League assassins if Crow hadn’t jumped in to help, with Robin providing backup in the form of tossing awesome smoke bombs and the like into the fray.

Fortunately, the Widower had clearly discounted them as anything other than targets. He was taken completely by surprise when they defended the League squad. Their combined efforts had taken him down without too much trouble, and no casualties.

Whatever. At least that whole mess got the League off their back. Now the criminal organization is apparently too busy fighting off the Council of Spiders to bother with stalking Tim anymore, which is great.

_Hopefully those jerks keep each other busy for a long time. I don’t like the way that Ra’s guy has been after Tim, trying to get at him while he was vulnerable. It definitely smacks of manipulation or worse. There’ll be no more of that, at least, not while I’m around._

He stretches, rolling his shoulders as he walks. The warm, dry desert air feels balmy against his skin and he takes a moment to just enjoy being outside. It won’t be long before they have to confine themselves to the inside of their transport again, for however many hours it takes to get to wherever they’re going next. Which reminds him… “So, where to next? Got another museum or dig to break into? Or is it time to head back to Gotham, maybe get there in time to see tomorrow’s gorgeous, pollution-filled sunset?” Robin looks at Crow expectantly as they reach the armored vehicle.

“Appealing as all of that sounds, I was actually thinking about heading back and then checking into a hotel under one of the dwindling number of established covert identities I _haven’t_ yet committed legally dubious actions under. Then we could order whatever we want and relax while I wrap up my report, and then send it off to the Justice League so they can do the legwork in actually retrieving Bruce from the time stream.” Crow pauses, looking slightly dazed at his own words. It’s entirely possible he hadn’t quite expected to ever reach this point, which makes something twist sharply in Robin’s chest.

_Oh, Tim._

“Sounds good to me.” Robin hops into the driver’s seat, feeling slightly guilty as he briefly thinks about all the obligations he put on hold to join Crow in his quest. He’s just lucky the gym has several other qualified coaches to pick up the slack while he’s away, or he’d be paying for this later. “You ready?” He turns to the passenger seat, where Crow should be busily typing or uploading data, or possibly reading case files and solving mysteries from half a world away. The main reason he lets Robin drive all the time is probably because he gets so much more done that way.

Instead of typing, though, Crow’s just staring at Robin with a mildly pained expression. “So many bright colors,” he says in a plaintive voice, only the tiny lift of one corner of his mouth giving away that he’s just teasing.

Robin grins and shakes his head, turning on the vehicle and easing it forward. “I like bright colors.” He does. The costume he ended up designing with Tim’s input has the same basic bodysuit and cape as Crow’s somber, black uniform, but with cheerful accents in red, yellow, and green.

He’s not sure exactly how Tim managed to get it fabricated for him so fast, but it involved text messages, a few hushed phone calls, and a mysterious package appearing on their hotel balcony one night. Robin suspects the new Batman may have been involved, although the actual delivery itself smacks more of meta assistance. Maybe it was Tim’s resurrected friends, helping him out.

_I’m glad he has so many people who care about him. Still not happy that he was out here putting himself at risk and none of them were there for him when I found him, though._

Tim’s voice interrupts his musings. “You look like a traffic light. I’m constantly amazed at how stealthy you manage to be when you’re practically wearing a target.”

“It’s a distraction! Besides, the top of the cape is black, so I can just wrap it around myself when I need stealth.” He shifts slightly. “I _am_ glad you convinced me to go for pants, though.”

Crow laughs, bright and merry. “Your first design was—well, it definitely would have stopped criminals in their tracks, but only because they would be in shock and then laughing too hard to attack us or defend themselves properly.”

“And then we’d swoop down and apprehend them while they were distracted! See, my plan was solid.” Robin scans the horizon, automatically checking for anything out of place, but there’s nothing out there except the road stretching out before them through the vast expanse of desert, with a few outcrops of rock silhouetted against the stars. “I refuse to be ashamed of Robin version 1.0. It was pretty much a fusion of your costume and my gymnastics gear, and it made total sense.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if I’d actually let you go out and fight crime in that thing.” Crow snickers, looking more relaxed than he’s been since the moment Dick spotted him at the airport in Berlin. The sight brings with it warmth and contentment.

_I wish I could always take care of him like this. Who does he have to watch his back, anyway? I doubt he’ll go back to being Batman’s partner, even when they get the real one back. Not if Bruce Wayne’s younger kid is filling that role now. But I think Crow could use a partner, and I do have some free time now that I’m just coaching and not a full-time competitive gymnast…_

Crow’s eyeing him, and he abruptly remembers he’s supposed to answer now. “Yeah, fine. I’ll admit I appreciate the extra protection and warmth. And the material is way more flexible than I expected, so my movements aren’t as impaired as I thought they would be.” Robin watches the road, still keyed up and ready for something to happen to slow them down now that they’re apparently so close to achieving Crow’s goal.

It’s been a wild few weeks tagging along with the younger man through Europe and the Middle East. They had hit up a couple of museums and archaeological sites, mostly getting in and out without any trouble once the League assassins were no longer on their tail.

_I bet those guys were setting him up to fail, tipping people off so he’d get caught. That way, they could make themselves look good ‘saving’ him and gain his trust. The way everything’s been smooth sailing since we lost our tail speaks volumes about that._

“I was going to come here next, you know,” Crow says, breaking the silence and startling Robin out of his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“The cave we were just in. I had meant to come here right after Berlin, but meeting up with you threw me off track. Your gymnastic skills are incredible and your martial arts foundation is solid, but I had to take time to give you at least basic training in vigilante skills before taking you along with me.” Crow rolls a shuriken between his fingers, looking pensive.

Robin frowns, but keeps his voice level when he speaks. “So I slowed you down. Do you regret—?”

“No!” Crow shakes his head rapidly, then bites his lip, looking at him earnestly. “No, I don’t. In fact… I think you might have really helped me. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. With the timing of events, there’s a strong possibility if I’d come straight here, the Widower or someone else from the Council of Spiders might have caught up to those three assassins who were tailing me while we were out here, in the middle of nowhere. If that had happened…”

Robin swallows, following that line of thought and feeling sick at the logical conclusion. His help during that encounter had made a difference. Crow and the assassin trio on their own might not have been enough to fight off the attacker. And if they’d made it through with grievous injuries, they would have found themselves stranded far from assistance or medical care.

It doesn’t bear thinking about.

“That didn’t happen,” he says roughly. “It won’t. You have me, for as long as you want me.” It’s only after he’s spoken that he realizes the gravity of what he’s said. But it’s true. Tim is someone who has been precious to him for a very long time, and every new facet the other man reveals just makes him want to know more.

There’s no answer, and he glances over at the passenger seat.

_Aw… He’s so cute when he’s asleep._

Crow is curled slightly, face tipped toward Robin and lips slightly parted in his sleep. It’s probably a sign of his exhaustion and the level of effort he’s been demanding from his all-too-human body over the course of this mission, but Robin likes to think it’s also a sign of trust in him. At least, he hopes so.

_I wonder where we go from here?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Crow and Robin, completing Brucequest together:** *Find final piece of evidence to get Bruce back, high five* “Yay!”  
>  **League of Assassins, grumbling in the background:** “We would have gotten to Crow, if it weren’t for that meddling gymnast!” *Drag feet as they go to report to Ra’s that they utterly failed to bring his chosen heir into the fold* “Hope he’s not in a stabby mood today”  
> *  
> Quotes this chapter adapted from Red Robin #4.


	6. Chapter 6

Tim barely recognizes the Batcave as he stares, stunned, at the cheerful bright lights illuminating the various bandaged, scraggly animals which are casually wandering or, in some cases, limping, through the Cave. An unusual mix of alternative rock, world music, and Disney songs echoes off the cavern walls. For a final incongruous note, Batman has his cowl pushed back and is loudly singing along to ‘You’re Welcome’ from the movie Moana while he carefully splints the leg of a furiously hissing black cat. Rukk, maskless, is cradling the presumably stray feline in his hands, watching the proceedings with an expression Tim would call concern on anyone else.

This is _Damian,_ though. He’s a vicious child-assassin, bent on world domination, or at least Tim’s painful and ignominious destruction. His face shouldn’t be capable of looking _tender._ Maybe it’s just gas?

“That’s _Batman?”_ Dick whispers, crowding up behind him where he’s standing in front of the vehicle bay, frozen in his tracks at the unexpected sight. With how loud the Cave is right now, it’s no surprise the others don’t appear to have noticed their arrival. “He’s got a pretty good singing voice.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” Jason’s bass voice is surprisingly tuneful, and he’s really getting into the song. There are too many startling things happening right now for Tim to dwell for long on that one, though he definitely squirrels the fact away in case it comes in handy later. “I didn’t know either of them liked animals, either, but I’m guessing at least one of them does, considering they seem to have picked up half the strays in Gotham.”

A tortoiseshell cat, too thin but otherwise healthy in appearance, rubs against his leg as he speaks and then meows up at him cajolingly. Tim smiles in spite of himself. “Hey there.” He crouches down and holds out his hand, then gently strokes the cat when she butts her head softly against him. “Aww.” He looks up, grinning, only to find Dick cuddling a three-legged brown and white puppy in his arms while what must be its siblings cavort around at his feet, yipping and rolling over each other in their excitement.

Damian’s imperious tones carry across the Cave, rising over the high ambient noise level to reach them. “Todd, where has Frodo gone? Now that we have tended to Portia, we must— _intruders!”_

_Oh, shit._

Tim rises to his feet rapidly, stepping between the incoming pint-sized cyclone and his brave, but still inexperienced and only partially trained civilian friend.

Damian’s already charged halfway across the Cave, katana in his hands. _Where was he even keeping that thing?_ “Hey guys, it’s just me…” He winces, bracing himself just in case Damian decides to attack anyway.

Fortunately, the ten year old skids to a halt in front of them, gaze trailing dismissively over Tim before locking onto Dick. Tim tenses, ready to defend him, but after a moment it becomes clear that won’t be necessary. The child’s green eyes widen almost comically. _“Richard Grayson?”_ His mouth drops open and a faint flush rises to his cheeks. Spinning, he gestures to Jason, who seems to be taking his time ambling over to join them. “Todd! Come meet Richard Grayson, the world’s greatest male gymnast! Mother used to have me watch footage of his performances by the hour, attempting to hone my technique.”

Dick blinks, appearing slightly stunned by the onslaught, but he recovers quickly, grinning as he reaches out a hand. “I’m honored! But I prefer to go by Dick, with my friends. Would you like to show me what you learned?”

Watching the demon brat smiling almost bashfully as he shakes Dick’s hand, then leads him over to the mats, Tim experiences a surreal sensation that he might have slipped into an alternate universe. “What the hell?”

Jason snorts, tilting his head as he watches Dick tumble through a simple routine and then encourage Damian through some tumbling of his own, praising him and gently correcting his technique. “Looks like your boyfriend is good with feral kids. But _Dick,_ really?”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Tim feels his cheeks heating, and narrows his eyes at Jason’s laughter. Asshole. “And Dick is a perfectly acceptable name.”

“Yeah, back in the goddamn _fifties._ Anyway. We got a message from the Justice League, seems like they’ll probably be able to get Bruce back within a few days.” Jason rubs at the back of his neck with one hand, sucking in a breath, and then slowly releases it. His expression is contrite as he says, “Fuck, Baby Bird, I’m sorry. I shoulda listened to you more—”

Tim shakes his head, then bites his lip. “No, Jay, you had other things to do here, anyway.” He glances around the changed Cave, raising a brow. “A _lot_ of other things, apparently.”

Jason follows his gaze, then rolls his eyes, laughing. “Fuck off, what was I supposed to do? The kid has the fuckin’ puppy dog eyes _down._ Every time we found a goddamn stray, he whipped ‘em out, and turns out I’m fuckin’ weak to that shit.” He snickers, grinning. “Besides, now that B’s coming back, I get to leave _him_ to deal with this mess.”

That surprises a laugh out of Tim. “God, you’re a bastard. He’s not going to be able to get rid of any of them, is he?”

“Naw, kid already named ‘em all, so they gotta stay.”

Damian’s voice interrupts as his head whips around to scowl at Jason. “Todd, cease your prevaricating! You insisted upon naming half of the animals yourself, else the puppies would not carry such ridiculous names as Frodo, Samwise, Merry, and Pippin. And the older dogs would have suitable appellations such as Ophelia or Hamlet, instead of being forced to answer to _Lizzie_ and _Darcy.”_

_I understand the Pride and Prejudice reference, Jason’s always loved that book, but why Lord of the—_

“Oh my god,” Tim says, torn between amusement and horror at his sudden realization. “Jason, did you name the puppies after the hobbits because that one puppy is missing a leg, and Frodo had the tip of his finger amputated?”

Jason smirks. “Maybe.”

“Wow. This is going completely differently from what I was expecting.” Dick bounces up next to them, holding Frodo in his arms again while the other puppies and Damian all trail after him. Tim has to work hard to suppress a laugh at that image. There’s no way the demon brat is tame enough to tolerate Tim laughing at him.

It’s really cute, though.

“What were you expecting? How’d you end up working with Timbo here, anyway? All’s he said when he sent his report was he’d picked up an ally, a new vigilante called Robin, and that you guys had tracked down the clues to B’s whereabouts together.” Jason folds his arms over his broad chest, using his height advantage to loom over Dick, who takes the opportunity to put down the puppy.

_Geez, Jason, lay off the idiotic posturing._

Tim considers running interference, but Dick’s already smiling disarmingly and telling Jason about how they met, and their history together. Jason’s posture has relaxed and he’s smiling and nodding along when Dick reaches the point where they met up in Europe. “And then I ran into Tim at the Berlin-Tegel Airport where he was being arrested for artifact theft, and helped him fight off the League of Assassins who were after him for probably nefarious but unknown purposes.”

“What the _fuck?”_ Jason is no longer smiling. In fact, he looks just about ready to grab his guns and go find something to shoot.

“What interest had Grandfather in _Drake?_ He is the least of Father’s former partners.” Damian frowns consideringly, then allows, “Although I suppose his success in his quixotic quest to retrieve Father earns him some modicum of respect. As does his incomprehensible ability to befriend an impressive ally such as yourself.” He bestows a grand nod on Dick, who seems uncertain how to respond to this gesture.

“Uh, thanks?” Dick looks mildly offended on Tim’s behalf, as well as extremely charmed by the child’s idiosyncratic manners. “Tim’s incredible. I think Ra’s sees that.” Over Damian’s head where the boy can’t see, he makes eye contact with Jason and mouths, “Seriously. It’s super-creepy and we need to keep an eye on that.”

Tim rolls his eyes at that. “You guys are idiots. It’s not that bad.”

Growling, Jason glares at him. “You are _telling_ us if that piece of shit keeps harassing you, alright? At least tell your boyfriend over there.”

_Oh god, Jason why? You’re really leaning into the embarrassing side of this whole brotherly relationship thing, aren’t you?_

Tim darts a glance over at Dick, hoping he somehow missed that. But instead of looking appalled or, worse, pitying, the other man is grinning dopily. He catches Tim looking and quickly masks his expression, but…

_Hmm._

“Anyway, it’s been good seeing you guys, but Dick and I just got back into town. We should probably go grab a bite and decompress for a while. You have my reports about Bruce, and Dick and I will probably be in touch about getting him into a training rotation with everyone so we can all learn each other’s styles and practice together.”

Jason smirks like a bastard. “Be safe, kids.” He winks outrageously and Dick grins, winking back as he wraps an arm around Tim’s shoulders before they head back the way they came.

As they walk away, Damian’s strident tones follow them. “What did you mean by that, Todd? Is this related to the slideshow I found on Father’s computer? Are they about to engage in intercourse? Should we not have given them some of the Bat-branded prophylactics you distribute to the prostitutes?”

Jason’s laughing too hard to answer. Tim cringes, face flaming as he determinedly avoids Dick’s eyes. From the way Dick’s arm around him is shaking, he’s laughing too.

_Why is my family so embarrassing?_

Fortunately, Dick doesn’t bring it up as they make their way to Tim’s apartment, instead trying to convince Tim to adopt one of the puppies. It doesn’t work. Now, if he’d tried to get him to take home a kitten, on the other hand…

Tim shakes his head, glancing up to see Dick opening the door a few minutes after their arrival. It must be the dinner they ordered.

“So…” Dick sets down the stack of boxes the delivery person just handed him and then sits down on Tim’s couch. “We finally going to talk about it?”

The strong, enticing scent of pizza makes Tim’s stomach growl, reminding him they haven’t had anything since a quick sandwich much earlier in the day. But he feels too nervous to eat yet, butterflies dancing in his stomach as his mind flies through all the possible iterations of the conversation they’re about to have. “Yeah, guess it’s about time.”

Dick turns to face him, dark blue eyes locked on his face. “Tim. The past few weeks, traveling and fighting by your side, have been _amazing._ And before you say anything, it’s not just the adrenaline or the vigilante work, it’s _you._ I think I would be happy spending time with you, even if we were just sitting around arguing about Star Wars, or watching awful horror movies and making fun of them, or even doing nothing at all. I just… I don’t want that to end.”

Tim bites his lip, heart fluttering in his throat as he puts everything on the line, all his building feelings and hopes and fears out there. He trusts Dick. “It doesn’t have to.” He leans forward, closing the space between them, then hesitates. “Am I reading this right…?”

His answer is another blindingly happy, beautiful grin as Dick nudges forward to meet him. “Oh, yeah.” Their lips press together, and—

Bruce once told him kissing your soulmate for the first time after the bond forms is like being electrocuted without pain. His dad had cleared his throat when he’d asked, and turned beet red before muttering, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” His mom had just smiled, a faraway look in her eyes and a pink tinge on her cheeks, and told him it was like no other feeling in the world.

They’re all right, and all _wrong._ Kissing Dick feels like a warm blanket of love wrapping around the very heart of him, as though everything that’s ever hurt him isn’t _gone_ exactly, just retroactively tinged with a sense of peace and safety and acceptance, like nothing he’s ever known.

The sensation of their soulbond clicking into place makes him gasp, and they pull back to stare at one another, dazed. “Wow,” he whispers finally.

“Yeah. _Damn.”_ Dick’s got that goofy grin on his face again.

He looks so gorgeous and appealing, Tim leans forward and kisses him again, this time slower and more thoroughly. Breaking away a second time just to breathe, he realizes with a slight sense of surprise that he’s now straddling Dick, lying on top of him stretched full length on the couch. At some point during those kisses, they apparently migrated. It’s very comfortable. “So, that happened.”

“Yeah.” Dick sounds dreamy and completely content, his arms wrapped around Tim. His hands are rubbing gentle circles on his back.

The pizza still smells really good, but this position is too comfortable to give up. “I’ve never known anyone whose soulbond formed on their _first_ kiss before.” It’s unusual, although not unheard of. Normally, soulbonds form gradually over time and might lock into place with the hundredth or thousandth kiss. It just depends on how long it takes for the love and intimacy between a couple to deepen enough to allow for the bond to grow.

“Oh, I never told you?” Dick’s voice sounds surprised. “My mom and dad were like that. They’d known each other all their lives, you know. And when they finally decided to try going out on a date, they bought ice cream and Mom kissed him. Their soulbond came in then and there.” He squeezes Tim a little tighter. “I should have considered the possibility that might happen for us. After all, I’ve loved you for a very long time now.”

_Holy shit._

Tim buries his face in Dick’s warm shoulder, overwhelmed. “Wow. I never thought… I mean. I figured if it was going to be anyone, it would be Steph, you know? And then everything went so wrong between us. I didn’t really think I would get a soulmate.”

Dick strokes his back and remains silent for so long Tim squirms, worried. The other man soothes him then, kissing his hair. “Did you ever think maybe it was trust? Vigilantes seem to keep a lot of secrets, for good reason. But I wonder if our soulbond would have taken before you told me the truth about who you are? Somehow, I doubt it.” He goes quiet again then as Tim absorbs the import of his words.

And… It’s true. He and Steph always had secrets between them, big ones. “I think maybe it starts with being the kind of person someone else can give that level of trust to.” He and Steph were never quite there. But with Dick, it’s so easy.

“I like that.” Dick presses another kiss, this one to his cheek. He smiles and turns into it, making the next one land on his lips which distracts them for a while. “Hey, you know how people in parts of Europe kiss each other in greeting?”

“Yeah?” Tim wants to get back to kissing, but he’s willing to talk if that’s what Dick feels like doing.

“Well, it was like that with the circus, too. Everyone had multiple soulmates, and there were more platonic soulmates discovered because of that, too. I have this theory that if everyone kissed instead of shaking hands or hugging, especially with friends and family, _everyone_ would have a ton of platonic and familial soulmates.” Dick stretches, lifting Tim into the air with the movement of his body. “Anyway, just a thought. But this feels so good, I wish more people could experience it.”

Tim considers the idea, then slowly smiles. He has a lot of best friends and family members who could probably use the lift of having a platonic soulmate or two. “Hey Dick,” he says, grinning, “wanna start a trend?” Dick snickers, then nods enthusiastically.

The look on Jason’s face the first time Dick smacks one on him is going to be _hilarious._

For now, though, he’s just looking forward to making out with his soulmate on the couch for a while, and maybe having some cold pizza later. Then kiss some more, because the whole soulmate thing feels _amazing._ Tim sighs happily, pulling back after a moment to look into Dick’s vivid, joyful dark blue eyes.

_This is awesome, and I have a feeling it’s just going to keep getting better._

Dick kisses him again then, and the world falls away as that incredible feeling of safety and love surrounds them once more.

_Yeah,_ Tim thinks, grinning, _the pizza can wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim and Dick, showing up at Cave:** *Immediately notice it’s swarming with rescued stray animals* “Wtf”  
>  **Jason, stumbling over through sea of animals:** “You guys want a cat?” *Scoops up like three meowing, struggling strays at random* “Here! For the love of fuck, take at least one!”  
>  **Tim and Dick, eyeing sickly-looking cats with trepidation:** “Uh…” *Begin to back away slowly*  
>  **Damian, brandishing katana menacingly:** “Away, miscreants! None would care for these poor creatures as well as I!” *Rescues cats from Jason, cuddles them while glaring at Tim*  
> *  
>  **Dick, finally making a move:** *Sits down by Tim on couch, yawns, stretches and puts his arm on couch behind Tim’s shoulders*  
>  **Tim, snickering:** “Smooth, Dick” *Turns and kisses him, discovers they’re soulmates* “Yay!”  
>  **Dick, grinning:** *Kisses Tim again* “So when we move in together, we’re adopting one of those puppies, right?”  
>  **Tim, rolling his eyes:** “Only if we also get a cat” *Resume kissing* “I’ll take that as a yes!”  
> *  
> Thank you so much to everyone who has given kudos or commented, and also to Salazarastark for running Dicktim Week! Also, thanks to the [Capes & Coffee Tim Drake discord server](https://discord.gg/bGhpCDn) for the sprints, betas and support while I was writing this. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story, and thanks for reading!


End file.
